


Coltsfoot

by Northisnotup



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boundaries, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-lite, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Parenthood, Sure its not explicit, Think of this verse as canon but a step to the left, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Nureyev, but it is important, everything is the same but better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: “Jack’s problem is that he wants to fix the past, and you can’t. You can’t go home again. You just make due with your imperfect present,” Sarah hums, tip-tapping her bitten, uneven nails against the tabletop. “And speaking of - are you going so soon, Benten? Got something better to do than entertain your dear old ma?”Ben holds out against the urge to whip his head around. But the smile on her face is still on the good side of mean, like Juno’s when he really wants to razz someone.Ben was hoping she would stay in a good mood today. He takes a breath. “Juno’s back planetside. He’s letting me come meet the baby,” he confides.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 37
Kudos: 254





	Coltsfoot

**Author's Note:**

> First - This fic deals with parenthood, and I have made the choice to use the terms wife/mother for Juno. I recognize that Juno is not transfemme, he is non-binary but Juno in the series has always leaned toward feminine language in formal settings. If that's not something you agree with or feel is right, then this fic is probably not for you. 
> 
> This started as me shifting things sideways in order for me to make a fic out of that video where the baby can't tell her dad and uncle apart because they are twins and turned into this. I have a sprawling timeline and backstory to this fic that will likely never be expanded on but if you're interested feel free to ask in the comments!
> 
> As always, I must give my deepest and most sincere thanks to Rox, for holding my hand and assuring me it's a story worth telling and paping me gently on the head when I am too caught up in minor details. 
> 
> NO but seriously, Rox is an avatar of patience that held my hand for NINE HOURS as I worked on this fic.

It’s one of Sarah’s good days. She’s lucid and smiling, enthusiastic about her latest project and the feedback she’s gotten from Jack. 

“Idiot,” she says, but without the sharpness that usually dogs her heels, “he keeps saying the themes are too complicated, too heavy for children, as if it’s not a continuation of the same theme we’ve been exploring for three seasons and two movies.” 

“It’s the finale, you can’t blame him for wanting it to be perfect,” Benzaiten says, collecting their cups. “How else is he going to take credit for your brilliance?” 

He doesn’t like tea, but Sarah’s case worker always suggests brewing it, _proper_ brewing, with three different pots of gently steaming water, a strainer and the kind of loose leaves that cost more than a clever credit. Says the process gives her time to settle into where she really is and who she’s with. It seems to work for Sarah, so Benten lives with watery leaf juice and uses the picking up of cups to signal he is leaving without having to say anything that might upset her. 

“Jack’s problem is that he wants to fix the past, and you can’t. You can’t go home again. You just make due with your imperfect present,” Sarah hums, tip-tapping her bitten, uneven nails against the tabletop. “And speaking of - are you going so soon, Benten? Got something better to do than entertain your dear old ma?” 

Benten holds out against the urge to whip his head around. No sudden movements. And when he can make himself look, slowly, casually, the smile on her face is still on the good side of mean, like Juno’s when he really wants to razz someone. 

Okay. 

Benten was hoping she would stay in a good mood today. He takes a breath. Abandons the cups in the sink to face her. “Juno’s back planetside. He’s letting me come meet the baby,” he confides. 

Waits. 

Watches the surprise dawn on her face. 

Juno’s face inherited her ease of expression, for sure. Benten knows he isn’t as easy to read, for better or worse. 

“Has it been that long already?” She murmurs, and it’s only when her fingers begin the rhythmless drumming again that Benten realized that they had stopped. “That sibling of yours. If he doesn’t stop being so paranoid he’s going to end up like me.” 

Benten doesn’t know whether or not to laugh, so he doesn’t. Turns the hot water back on and begins to wash their cups as Sarah stares off into the distance, thinking through what she wants to say.

“Baby have a name yet?” 

“I would assume so,” Benten chirps, careful with the rag against the delicate pattern of constellations painted on the cups.

“Funny. Or am I not allowed to know that either?” 

A year ago, she had still been angry about that. Benten smothers a sigh. Juno is well within his rights to not want to see Sarah, and she understands and even respects that, on a good day. 

“You’re allowed, he just hasn’t told me yet. I think his husband is planning some big, dramatic reveal.” For all that it’s a role he gave himself, it’s god damn exhausting to walk the line between what Sarah wants to know and what she is allowed to know. The name of Juno’s husband, for instance. 

She snorts. “That does sound like him.”

Hey, Juno never said he wasn’t allowed to tell stories. 

Besides, Benten needed to tell someone his uh, _concerns_ about Juno’s new paramour. Sasha was too busy to care, Mick couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it, Rita could keep a secret, she just wouldn’t, and Benten’s own friends were apathetic to downright disparaging when it came to his twin. 

“And just the one?” 

He’d made the same joke when he heard. Juno….hadn’t exactly been nice in his reply. 

“You don’t have to protect me from him,” Sarah’s dry comment has him flinching before he can cover it. Sometimes, Benten swears between her and Juno he feels like he’s under a god damned microscope. They see so much. Can’t help it. “Whatever pot shot he’s taken -”

“He could be kinder,” Benten cuts her off, a touch more viciously then he means to. 

“Oh, there’s the Steel in you,” Sarah says, just as vicious and not half as sorry to be. “Tell me, Benten, do I deserve kindness? Does Juno -”

“There is no such thing as deserve, Ma,” Benten cuts in again before she can really get going, really work herself up. “He just said that two at once is asking for trouble. That’s all.” 

“No it’s not.”

No. It’s not. But it’s all Benten is willing to say and Sarah, who sees so much, can still recognize that at least. 

“I’ll call tomorrow before I visit, okay?” He always tried to say it like he’s giving her a polite heads up. Like it’s not a rule of the facility she lives in that he has to check in with her case worker before he can visit, just in case she’s having a bad day. 

“Wait.”

Sarah hesitates, huffing out an annoyed breath, and Benten tries to think calm thoughts. Does not smile big and empty. Does not start to pacify her before she even acts out. Reminds himself that hesitation is not a marker of her outbursts.

“I have something - for the baby. Ask Juno. Or, just...you can bring it back if he doesn’t want it. It’s just something.” 

Oh. That sharp tone is embarrassment, not anger. She must want very badly for Juno to have this, some small bit of acceptance or legacy or whatever it is in her mind.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Sarah’s known about the baby almost as long as he has, so she’s had time to plan something like this. Juno kept the success of their surrogacy secret until they were sure this one took, so it was well into the second trimester when Benten found out he was going to be an uncle. It was a good shock, but still a shock. 

Sarah’s hands shake only slightly as she brings out a conical statue of three women back to back to back. “This is Brigid. She’s a protector goddess, from Earth.”

“With three aspects, like Isis,” Benten’s smile relaxes into something more natural as all the little bits of trivia he and Juno learned of old Earth myths and legends starts coming back to him. Trickling, bit by bit, into his consciousness. Heroes and rulers and warriors and mystics all separated by time and distance but telling variations on the same theme over and over again. 

He sneaks a glance at Sarah, taking in the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, the no-nonsense crop of her hair more gray than black, the softness around her cheeks and jaw that speak to more meals eaten than skipped. 

It’s been a long time since she was a spindly creature with bruises under her eyes and on her knuckles. She’s been sober for as long as she’s lived here, and it shows. 

“Yes, that’s right,” Sarah slips back into her lecturer tone, eyes far away as she speaks, “Brigid the healer, Brigid the smith, and Brigid the protector and keeper of the everburning flame. She was a sign of hard work, of war and of worship in itself. Just like Juno.” 

It takes a second for Benten to realize that his mother is referring to the goddess and not his sibling. 

“Juno is an aspect goddess?”

The smirk that tugs at the fine lines around Sarah’s mouth is fully sardonic now. “Juno was the patron goddess of the great Roman Empire. She wore as many faces as she needed to.” 

The times in Benten’s life he wishes his mother was not such a consummate storyteller are many and varied. For better or worse, Sarah Steel has a way of twisting a phrase into something that will sear itself into his memory for years on end. 

“Thanks, Ma. I honestly think Juno is really gonna like this.” 

Sarah scoffs. “They’re just stories, Benten.” 

She used to say the same thing after tucking Juno and him into bed, after weaving a tale of mystery, horror and righteousness. When Juno asked about the soldier who could never die or when Benten cried for the princess with her worn out pair of iron shoes.

“They’re just stories, my little monsters. Go to sleep now.” 

And they would wait for her footsteps to fade down the hall. They would wait for the light to turn off and her door to close before bolting out of bed and to the open window. 

“They’re just stories,” Juno would say, kneeling down. 

And Benten would kneel beside him, answering, “But just in case they’re not.” 

And two little kids with the names of goddesses, their heads full of fairy tales, would wish on as many stars as they could see through the dome. 

The soldier would find his rest. 

The princess would find her husband and heal him. 

The fool would learn what fear is. 

The storyteller would find inspiration. 

And the next night, Sarah would tuck them in and like magic, their wishes will have come true and they would do it all over again. 

Benten fingers his own present to the new baby on the cab ride over. It’s a thick book with a soft leather cover, full of myths, legends and fairy tales from Earth and around the universe. There are other things in his apartment, wrapped with a blank tag, waiting for their turn to be gifted. But this is the one he agonized over, driving himself half mad with the presumption of it and the many and varied ways Juno is likely to overreact and try to start a fight. 

Having Sarah’s gift next to it makes him feel a little bit better. 

It’s _thematic_ Juno. 

It’s _tradition_ Juno.

Though, speaking of tradition, Benten has to wonder what sort of bland, old fashioned, Earth type of name Juno’s given his baby. Probably something unbearably common. With a little flair, given his husband’s penchant. 

Eleanor, maybe. 

Catherine. Isaac. Josiah. Irene.

Really, the list could be endless. 

Finally, the cab pulls into the maze of side streets where Juno’s new building lays. 

Despite him having lived there for close to two years now. Despite the fact that Benten helped them move. Despite the fact that this was before even the wedding; it’s still called the ‘new’ building in Benten’s mind. 

The neighborhood of Arsinoe is an even keel sort of middle ground in a city so steeped in class divide there is an ID checkpoint into Uptown. It’s not as nice as, say, Minerva Heights, but it’s a step up from the cramped Flora District with its many markets and the busy-body working crush of Midpointe. 

As far as Benten remembers, Arsinoe was a compromise from the higher class neighborhood of Queen’s Rule that Peter had wanted and Juno’s stubborn pride at the idea of moving one single inch out of The Quarry, where his shitty apartment had been since he left the force all those years ago. But Arsinoe is nice. Not quite a suburb like Halcyon Park, because Juno would probably break out in hives if he had to pass house-spouses and nannies and middle managers worrying about their investment portfolio’s everyday, but still nice. There are high rises and scenic jogging paths overlooking the man-made river valley that separates it from Hyacinth Park. It’s full of cafes and underground malls, all with busy streets leading the way to Midpointe. 

It’s a good neighborhood to raise a kid in.

The door chimes green as he scans his ID and it recognizes him from the approved guest list. The new place is a couple of floors up, because Peter loves to have a view, but not so far up as to make Juno refuse to go near the windows.

The door opens before Benten’s knuckles make contact. 

“You made it just in time,” Peter says, voice hushed but full of near manic excitement. 

Benten starts to sarcastically say, ‘hello to you too, Mr. Ransom,’ when Peter’s quick hands trade his gift bags for a worn black eyepatch. “Hurry now, put this on.” 

And Benten is instantly gripped with that same chaotic glee.

“Oh, this is so mean,” Benten gasps. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he continues breathlessly, fluffing his twists into a looser style that looks more like Juno’s and securing the eyepatch over his left eye in smooth, practiced motions - like something he’s done a million times before.

“Hey, Nureyev,” Juno’s calls from around the corner, soft and a little tired, interrupted by a yawn. “Have you heard from Benten yet?”

“Has my muse finally awoke?” Peter croons, either ignoring the weird pet name or too excited to comment on it as he weaves his arm through Benten’s and pulls him into the living room.

Benten has just enough time to wrinkle his nose at the latest endearment on an ever growing list that seems to only get grander and more mushy with every visit he makes, when his uncovered eye settles on his twin. 

“Oh, a baby,” Benten hears himself coo in much the same sickly sweet tone. In wonder. As if he didn’t know he was coming to meet his nibling. As if he hasn’t been the receptacle of all Juno’s high strung anxiety over the health of their surrogate and the early birth and the baby’s fragile condition until now. 

But that’s a baby, a real live actual baby in his sibling’s arms, cradled close and blinking large dark eyes at him. Holding out their chubby arms. Warbling out a shrill, demanding “Mama!” and throwing their body weight toward him. 

“What, the - ?!” Juno yelps, but Benten is sweeping the little angel up and raining kisses on the sweet, downy skin of their cheeks. “Ben! Peter, what the he- _eck_.”

“Oh, hi, little darling, who are you?” Benten is surprised to find he reacts the same way to babies as he does to kittens and cerberus puppies and rabbit kits. Melted and bubbling like ice cream left in the Martian sun. 

“Give me back my daughter, Ben.”

“No,” Benten replies, in the same spun sugar tone. “She’s mine now. You’ve had her all to yourself and now I get to snuggle and cuddle and-”

His niece, his _niece_ wiggle-wobbles her gaze back to Juno at the sound of his voice and cries out “mama!” again, reaching. 

“Aw, yeah, come to mama, Calli,” Juno says smugly, plucking her out of Benten’s arms and tucking her close again. “And take _off_ my eyepatch, Benzaiten.” 

“Calli?” Benten does not take the eyepatch off. 

Juno bounces gently, smiling soft and tender at the little girl’s shrieks of joy. He takes her tiny, miniscule hand in his and waves it. “Hi, Uncle Benzaiten. Meet Calliope Steel.”

Calliope rolls her head in the direction Juno is waving her hand and blinks. “Mama,” she declares, holding her arms out again to be transferred. Which is just as well. It means that Benten can hide the well of tears in his eyes in her milky-sweet smelling hair. 

The noise of smothered laughter finally breaks through his baby-vision and he makes a three quarters turn to see Peter...and a comms unit aimed in their direction. Taking utter and complete advantage of the fact both Steel twins have eyepatches on and a baby between them and thus, have huge blind spots. 

“Ew, Ju-no. Your husband is bullying me.” 

“You’re bullying my daughter,” Juno makes to grab at him, trying to take Calliope back but Benten easily sidesteps him.

Then quicksteps. “Oh come on, this is funny.”

“You’re making fun of a _baby_ for lacking object permanence.” Grapevine. 

Pas de Bourree. “I’ve made fun of babies for less.” 

“Benzaiten!” 

“Your mama’s getting mad,” Benten sing-songs, twirling slowly. “Should we give you back?” 

Juno’s face appears over his shoulder and Benten watches Calli’s eyes go wide, staring hard at him before drifting over to Benten and then back at Juno. Her face scrunches up and Benten has just enough time to feel a little remorse before her cute little double-chin starts to wobble and she cries out for her daddy to come rescue her, turning in Benten’s arms and flailing.

“Oh, my sweet muse, my darling, is Uncle playing a mean, mean trick?” Peter sweeps her away and tosses her up in the air, causing both Steel twins to cry out ‘hey!’ for entirely different reasons. “Is my harmony hungry? Are you? My little music note?” He carries them both off to the kitchen, continuing to drivel pet names and cheer as she babbles nonsense back at him with the occasional clear word peppered in.

Benten can never be sure if he is thankful for the space Peter gives them to be vulnerable with each other or resents it. Like the only way a Steel could possibly be emotionally honest is without an audience. Either way, he turns and quickly locks his arms around Juno’s back, crushing them together in a hug. Then whining and pretending to struggle when Juno uses their proximity to yank the eyepatch away. “Ow!”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.” 

“Oh, real mature,” Juno grouses, only half meaning it.

“I don’t have to be mature, I’m the youngest,” Ben says, smug. 

“By twenty minutes!” 

“Twenty two, so _there_.”

Juno begins to tremble within his arms, and Benten feels sympathetic shakes start up in his own clinging limbs before they’re both giggling, bright eyed and punch drunk - like when they were kids and when they were teens and when they were adults who didn’t feel like they were and at Juno’s wedding when they felt positively ancient.

“Your daughter is beautiful, Super Steel.” 

“She’s perfect,” Juno sighs, sounding exhausted and light and just...happy. 

Benten squeezes him close, swallowing back sniffles and just holds him, heart to heart for a second. Letting himself revel in the moment, in being alive and having Juno here, also alive. Of having made it this far and accomplished so much. 

“I got her a present.” 

“Yeah, you better have.”

“Okay, I got her a lot of presents. But I only brought one.”

“Mmhmm, Peter had two bags. Spill.”

Benten hesitates. His next breath catches in his throat and he knows Juno heard it when a strong hand begins to sweep up and down his back. “Sarah asked me to bring one for her, too.”

Juno doesn’t freeze. He startles a little, but he doesn’t shake out of his skin and he doesn’t go prey-animal still in Benten’s arms at the mere mention of their mother. Not anymore. 

“You don’t have to give it to her, you don’t even have to open it,” Benten hurries on. He knows the old, wide lines Juno’s drawn and he knows he is toeing them in a way he always promised he wouldn’t. “It just - it fits the theme.”

Juno sucks in a shaky breath beside Benten’s ear. Holds it. Breathes out. And Benzaiten breathes with him. Let’s him think and process and take it as it comes. He doesn’t let go and Benten doesn’t either.

It’s far from the longest or most awkward hug they’ve ever had anyway. 

When they were very little, Sarah told him, they went through a phase of just _clinging_ to one another. Insisting that they were actually one person and not two. She was worried, until it revealed itself to be a game. When Benten stole Juno’s action figure and Juno punched him and Benten punched him back and they cried for hours, only to be Ju-ten again the very next morning. Sometimes Benten was Juno’s invisible friend and sometimes Juno was Benten’s. Sometimes they were one person. Sometimes they refused to share anything or acknowledge the other in any way. 

They were kids. 

They were all each other had. For years. 

“What theme?” Juno rasps, when he can.

“You know, _our_ theme.” 

“Ugh,” Juno pretends to gag, but starts to rock side to side, comfortingly. Like Benten is the one who needs to be comforted. “Thank you, uh, for telling me. I don’t. I’ll...think about it, okay?” 

“Okay,” Benzaiten doesn’t ask if he is sure. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Juno, I’m so proud of you.”

In his ears, he can swear he hears the echo of Sarah Steel and her storyteller voice: _She wore as many faces as she needed to._ In his arms, Juno, the ever evolving Goddess.

“Ew, Ben. Stop being proud of me for being a normal person doing normal people stuff.” Juno pulls away and Benten pretends he doesn’t see him wipe at his eye. 

“Oh, like, having a successful career and getting married to a man who makes you happy and having an adorable, perfect daughter? No.”

“Listen, Ben. Listen,” Juno stares him down, classic Steel intensity pinning Benten where he stands. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Ugh!” Benten flinches. 

“See!” 

In typical Juno fashion, he waits until Benten is distracted to open his gift, having pushed Peter out of the way and taken over trying to get a jar of mush that calls itself food into his niece. He just hopes Peter doesn’t have his comm out again. Doesn’t actually care to check, but with the deluge of syrupy baby-talk Benten is spewing, he wouldn’t even blame him. 

He knows, even as he is telling this shining star of a little girl with gray-orange mush smeared across her mouth that she is the smartest, most beautiful, sweetest, most loved girl in the galaxy, that it’s too much. But even having only just met her he also knows he would kill and die for her. And if that’s how he feels as an uncle, he can’t imagine the over-the-top of actually being her parent. 

(The fact he doesn’t have to bathe her after this or change her diaper and that he has slept the whole night through doesn’t factor into that, and until his first overnight babysitting, it won’t. He will still love her, but Benten will thank every God that may exist that he is not a parent nor in a position to become one.)

Behind him, Juno gasps softly. “Benzaiten, what the hell…”

He doesn’t turn around. “Do you like it?” Benten makes his voice a little higher, a little mocking, a _voice_ to give Juno the option of snarking back. 

“Ben, I love it,” Juno says instead, raw and a little wobbly. 

“He loves it,” Benten says smugly to his niece, who shrieks in delight, swinging her spoon around like a scepter. Benten has no idea when he let go of the spoon or when she picked it up, but she looks so very regal and is so very talented and she looks like she has her mama’s strength so he’s not likely to get it back anyway. “Your mama loves your new bed time story book, yes he does. And you are gonna know all the best stories, just like we did.” 

“Ben,” Juno sounds more like himself, “why are you letting Calliope wear her dinner?” 

“She wants to feed herself!”

“She’s just a baby, she doesn’t know how!” 

“You’re not giving her enough credit, Super Steel.” 

“I’ll just start a bath, shall I?” Peter says archly and swans past, dropping a kiss on two out of the three Steel’s present. 

With the practice of three years under his belt, Benten does not repeat him mockingly. But it’s still a close thing. He meet’s Juno’s eye instead, giving him a significant _look_ and accepts the push he gets as his due.

Benten makes himself busy at the sink when Peter comes back to claim Calli, pretends he has ear plugs in as Juno steps close to wrap his husband and daughter up in a big, messy hug. “Quick bath or are you gonna let her tire herself out?” 

“Well, she had a rather long nap this afternoon, my love. I happen to think the exercise will do her good, don’t you?”

“Oh, come off it, it was an accident.” 

“I shall do no such thing. Juno-Calliope naptime was a much anticipated event, you know. The event of the season, all my favourite people were there.” 

“You’re some smooth talker, you know that?” 

There is the noise of a kiss behind him. And not the loud, smacking noise of a quick one either. Gross. Benten turns the water up to drown them out and definitely not to give them some privacy. 

“Mm, okay. Go on, I’ll finish dinner.” 

“He means he’ll start it!” Benten calls over the running water. It hasn’t escaped his notice that while the prep is all done, none of the actual cooking has been started yet. 

“Yes, ha-ha, very amusing Benzaiten,” Peter trills back, his voice trailing away down the hallway. 

“Alright. So, Super Steel, what are we making?” 

“I am making cricket pad thai. You are washing a high chair.” 

Benten huffs. “What, still don’t trust me?” 

“Peter needs to eat this too and you always dare me to put more spice in.” 

“In my defense, it could always use more spice.” 

“Benzaiten!”

“Juno!” 

*

Ben stayed until it was time to put Calli to bed, and then took off without helping to clean up, of course. 

Juno rolls his eye fondly, beginning to roll up his sleeves when Peter catches him around the waist with one hand and presses Calli to his chest with the other. “Now, now, my dear. You know the rules.” 

“Peter,”

“Hm?”

“Nureyev!”

“Yes?” 

It’s so endlessly stupid that his last name, his _real_ last name is the only pet name he truly enjoys Juno calling him. A relic from their antagonistic first meeting and whirlwind romance. 

“Are you honestly gonna argue with me about the dishes?” 

“I believe you have a much more important task to do, Juno.” Peter sways the three of them gently to a rhythm that doesn’t exist outside of his own mind. “Storytime belongs to the storyteller, after all.” 

Juno hums and Calli, pressed between them, gurgles her own excitement. “You have a story in mind?” 

“I may have taken the liberty of paging through,” Peter says coyly. “What do you think, harmony, do you want The True Bride? Or The Gorgon, maybe?” 

Juno wishes he could be surprised. He has no idea when Peter had the time to leaf through the huge book of bedtime stories, but apparently he had enough time to familiarize himself with at least two of the tales where the day is saved by a courageous hero.

“I’m reading The Princess and the Pea,” Juno decides dryly and leans up to kiss the sullen pout from Peter’s lips. “Just, do me a favor?” 

“Well, now that you’ve wounded me so grievously, how can I say no?” 

“Hey, I kissed it better.” 

“Mm, that you did. What can I do for you?” 

“Take Calliope in for me? I’ll be right there, I just have something I gotta do first.” 

Peter searches his face, his eye, making sure he’s alright and for a second Juno is so sure that he is about to be kissed. The kind of kiss that makes the whole world stop spinning. The kind of kiss that feels like comfort and home, and says ‘lay down your worries.’ Between their chests, Calliope throws her weight forward, bringing her hands to Juno’s scruffy jaw, fisting the short hairs there and dragging his face toward hers until she can press her cold, drool covered mouth against his cheek. 

“Muah!” 

It’s some kind of kiss alright. 

Peter’s laughter hiccups out above him and Juno’s heart swells at the rough, deep, exclamation of it. Like a rock skipping across a frozen lake. His real, honest laughter is not beautiful. Not practiced into something light and airy and musical like he does for people who are not Juno, and until the first time Calliope laughed in that same rhythmic, whooping way, it was Juno’s favourite sound in the galaxy. 

Juno’s own laughter bursts out of his chest, leaving him feeling light and warm, and he drags his lips to his daughter's cheek, round with baby fat to kiss her back, blowing razzberries until she lets him go. 

Peter does him the favor of wiping off Calli’s drool before kissing that same cheek and taking her off to start the bedtime routine. If she is confused or upset about the change in parent, she makes no sign, cooing and fussing for Peter just as much as she ever does when Juno is in charge. And he is, usually, in charge. Bedtime and nap times are Juno’s domain, just as wake ups and bath times are Peter’s. 

(Juno’s working theory suggests that this is because Peter doesn’t trust Juno to dress Calliope properly. Peter remains adamant that this isn't true, but won't hesitate to bring up the time he left for fifteen minutes to go to the store and came back to find Calli in mismatched sweatpants and socks with no shirt.) 

The gift doesn’t look like one at all, which is par for the course with Sarah Steel, Juno thinks, uncharitably. 

Ben’s book was wrapped in a silk scarf and tucked away in a gold shimmering gift bag. This sits lumpy on his kitchen table, like a shopping tote. 

_That’s not fair._

Juno would like to say the thought comes to him in Ben’s voice, soft and honest. But it’s his own voice. 

That’s not fair of him to say.

But Juno doesn’t like to think of Sarah Steel at all when he can. If at all possible, he likes to forget he inhabits a world where she still exists, because there is a part of him, a small, angry part that has never stopped fighting her. His own personal monster that lives in his mind that he can rail at and point his problems at and slay when need be.

And that’s not fair.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Juno grabs the bag. It’s softer than he thought it would be, and crafted out of linking, woven fibers. The object inside is solid, and heavy.

If he had allowed himself to consider, he’d have expected some sort of merch. Something mass produced and crowing about her own accomplishments. Turbo, Andromeda, Lyra. But the three women who stare out at him are so obviously not the creation of Sarah Steel. The style is all wrong, as is the medium. With their arms interlocked and their backs to each other, they are able to view in all directions. One of the women holds a hammer, one a vase and one a lute; each is smiling. Between their backs is just enough space for a candle or similar offering. 

The patterns of their dresses aren’t immediately familiar, but Juno didn’t get where he is by ignoring the very obvious. 

It fits the theme, Ben said. 

Juno, the Queen of Gods and Protector of Rome. 

Benzaiten, from whom all things flow. 

And now, this.

Whoever she is, she is beautiful and she is fierce and she is nurturing. 

In the quiet of his home, far away from the wreck he grew up in, Juno tries to drum up some of that old fire. The anger that drove him for so many years. The little monster that lurks inside him he named Sarah Steel that threatens to come out in every broken knuckle and angry word.

And he can’t.

Down the hall, his husband sings to their daughter, off pitch and off key in frustration as she tries to squirm away from wearing pants. The pans from dinner shift in the sink, reminding Juno that they need to be taken care of today, not tomorrow. The cat from two floors up yowls faintly off their balcony and Juno is just so, so very tired. 

Juno’s mother stopped being a nightmare for him years ago. Sarah Steel is just a person. Just a person who broke and had to put the jagged pieces back herself and she fucked up, but she is sorry. She was always sorry. 

She was especially sorry when Jack came crawling back and - well. 

It’s not enough. It will _never_ be enough.

But by all the gods, she gave up this fight so long ago. She freely ceded her territories and has never taken up arms again. 

And Juno is so damn tired of fighting a war with himself against himself. He doesn’t care whether the statue is an apology or a reminder or both. He is not Sarah Steel, he doesn’t have to wait years to swallow his pride enough to admit he doesn’t hate this gift. Because it’s a nice sentiment and, one day, when Calliope is old enough, she can decide for herself what it means. 

To Juno, it’s simple. 

He will protect his daughter. He will love her. He will nurture her. 

Peter makes a low, questioning noise when Juno slides in bed next to him, hand immediately coming up to cradle his face and thumb gentle under his eye. “Juno?”

Voice thick in his throat, Juno offers the statue for his consideration. “The dresser ought to be a good spot ‘til she gets crawling, right?” 

Juno can see him flicking through scripts, testing out things to say and disregarding them just as quickly. In the end, he trades their burdens almost too fast and too smooth for Juno to notice. Leaving Ben’s book in his hands and taking Sarah’s statue to the tall armoire that stands vigil in the corner. “One must never pass up a good view, I think.” 

Before Peter settles back in, he picks their baby up out of her bassinet. 

Juno is too exhausted to feel as annoyed as he should, but he makes a token effort to protest. “Nureyev, we said - no co-sleeping. She has got to learn to sleep alone.”

“Juno, dearest, come now. Surely sleep training can wait one night.”

He gives his husband the eye, which is impressive, as he only has one of them to do it with, but gives in with a sigh. He opens the book instead, and begins.

“Once upon a time, in a far away land...”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I promised to include it: 
> 
> Rox: Peter is just like "Well..those eggs finally came in handy rather than simply withering away, hm?"
> 
> Me: Juno's face pinches. "I'm still sorry we had to -"
> 
> "Hush." Peter cuts him off, sharp teeth nipping at the back of his neck and squeezing his hips in that strong, sure grip. "We did try the old fashioned way, but for all your hips. No luck." 
> 
> Juno hiccups a laugh, giving into the buoyant urge to grind his ass back against his husband. "Want to try again, for good luck?"


End file.
